The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks by E. Lockhart.
Why:
Have read lots of posts about it this year & meant to get to it sooner, but it was this Battle of the Kids’ Books post at SLJ that got me to click to the library hold site. Frankie lost this round to We Are the Ship: The Story of Negro League Baseball, but judge Rachel Cohn’s explanation of her decision made me want to read both books. I’ve got a baseball story in my queue already, so I’ll save We Are the Ship for another day.
Came highly recommended by my friend and fellow writer Matthew Lickona. And because I know that Andrew is a smart and sensitive Catholic writer (or a writer who happens to be Catholic), and I’m interested to see how he works with faith and fiction. And because who can resist a description like this?—”…a tough little bundle of shards that can as easily cut and make you bleed as it can reflect the one true light…” (Brett Lott, author of Jewel). “Bundle of shards”? I’m in.
(A roundup post with links to my notes and reviews)
Hey, what happened to all those booklists you used to have in your sidebars at the old blog?
They're still accessible at melissawiley.typepad.com, where this blog lived from January 2005-March 2008. You can also find all my Lilting House posts there, or try the search bar here. All my previous Bonny Glen and Lilting House posts have been imported to this site.
Every day is complicated, messy, and full of friction. And every day has glorious or cozy moments worth celebrating. I seldom bother to chronicle the friction and the mess because writing time is fleeting and precious—and childhood even more so. I’d rather capture the small joys that I might forget—or take for granted—if I don’t take time to set them down in words.
(Excerpt from this post about Real Life, quoted here because I don't want anyone to be under the impression that things are always perfect around here! Heaven knows we are anything but. Perfect, frictionless, orderly? Nope. Happy? Most of the time!)
Be like the bird
Who, pausing in flight
On limb too slight,
Feels it give way beneath her,
Yet sings,
Knowing she has wings.
—Victor Hugo
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“Exploration,” says John Stilgoe, author of Outside Lies Magic, “is a liberal art, because it is an art that liberates, that frees, that opens away from narrowness. And it is fun.”
Yes: it is so, so much fun, and that is why I write these posts all chattery with excitement over this or that connection the kids made today. (Or that I made myself!) I know I get carried away, but that’s the point, isn’t it, that way leading on to way has carried me away?
And yet—and yet—I think we are at once ‘carried away’ and made more fully present in the now, more rooted, by these relationships between ideas about things past and future. The joy of connection makes me want to celebrate this moment, this brief encounter with wild-haired child and broad-trunked tree, bus going by, sign on church wall, Scottish warlord creeping over the tower wall and startling the English soldier’s wife who has just put her babe in arms to sleep by crooning that the Black Douglas won’t get him. Child, laughing, shouting “Dinna ye be sae sure aboot that!” across the courtyard outside the library. How can I not celebrate this freedom?
Yay! There are indeed some shards in there. But what they cut away is, in my mind, worth cutting away.
Posted on June 9th, 2009 at 7:27 pmSmart and sensitive? Why thanks. Too kind. Thanks for reading, Lissa!
Andrew
Posted on June 11th, 2009 at 2:22 am